


An Excellent Charade, Indeed

by thewordsthatweareneeding



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewordsthatweareneeding/pseuds/thewordsthatweareneeding
Summary: Frank asks Emma to pretend to be his girlfriend to keep his aunt from discovering his relationship with Jane. Emma, who has a habit of becoming too involved in her friends' lives and doesn't plan to date anyone else anyway, agrees. It should all be very simple. But, as her friend Knightley keeps reminding her, everything seems to become so much more complicated when Emma gets involved.(fake dating, College AU)
Relationships: Frank Churchill/Jane Fairfax, George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 29
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I literally haven't written anything in three years and then woke up one day with the words "Emma Woodhouse and Frank Churchill fake dating au" in my head and couldn't rest until I'd written something. The plan is for this to be a full on multi-chapter fic, but honestly, we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> And, to be very clear, this is not a fake dating AU where the two people pretending to date fall in love. Frank and Jane are in love with each other the entire time, and Emma and Knightley are figuring it out as they go.

_Bzzt._

Emma’s focus was pulled from her Economics textbook by the text notification lighting up her phone. It was the third in the last five minutes, and though she’d done a fairly good job of ignoring the first two, three was more than her willpower could withstand. She glanced at the screen and saw the name “Frank Churchill.”

“You said you were going to turn your phone off,” Knightley grumbled.

Emma glanced up from the screen to give him an innocent smile.

“And I will,” she said. “In a minute.”

Knightley rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his laptop. He had a paper due the next day, and was always grumpier and more impatient right before a deadline. If she’d known he was so close to one, she wouldn’t have asked to join him at the library.

She quickly read the texts.

 _Frank_ : Hey

 _Frank_ : can we talk today

 _Frank_ : ?

Emma furrowed her eyebrows. She felt her stomach flip, just a little, but couldn’t tell if it was excitement or anxiety. She’d only known him for a few months, but they’d formed a quick friendship. He was charming, fun, and maybe the only man she’d ever met who was her match for flirting. And beneath their easy banter and mutual need for entertainment, she did genuinely like him. The more time they spent together, the more convinced she was that they were actually very similar, and could genuinely be close friends.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been thrilled to take a break from the quiet, stifling library to see him. But he’d been acting strange lately. His teasing had given way to uncomfortable, heavy silences and heavy-handed attempts to get her alone. Now he was asking if they could talk. It sounded so serious, and Frank Churchill was never serious. It was one of the things she liked best about him.

Emma was becoming more and more convinced that Frank was planning to ask her out. A wave of dread washed through her. She’d thought they were on the same page about their flirtation. That it was a fun way to pass time, but it was never supposed to become anything more.

“Everything okay?” Knightley asked.

He kept his eyes trained on his laptop screen, as if only half-interested in his own question.

Emma straightened up. “Yeah. Why?”

He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “If you studied your textbook half as hard as you’ve been studying that text, you’d have the whole thing memorized by now.”

She scowled at him. Sure, Emma wasn’t the hardest working student at the University of Highbury, but she was doing well in all of her classes- or at least well enough. She’d made it to her junior year without ever failing a class or earning the resentment of a professor. Only Knightley seemed to think that she should be applying herself more. When she insisted that she was doing just fine with her current level of application, he always looked at her disapprovingly and say, “Ah, but imagine how much better you’d be doing if you _tried_.” She could practically see the words forming on his lips right now.

“It’s Frank,” she told him, miserably. “I think he’s going to ask me out.”

At that, Knightley fully turned away from his laptop to look at her. His face was guarded, like he hadn’t decided yet how to react.

Slowly, he said, “That’s…terrible?”

Emma huffed. Knightley was a close friend- maybe the closest friend she had- but he was useless when it came to talking about feelings and relationships. She never confided in him about boy problems if she could help it, but she’d been so eager to change the subject and avoid another lecture from him that she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Yes, of course it’s terrible!”

“Because Frank Churchill is a spoiled, self-absorbed frat boy and going out with him would be terrible?”

Emma glared at him. He always made it very clear that he didn’t like Frank, but she’d thought he could at least avoid insulting her friend long enough for her to vent to him. If he gleaned as much from her pointed look, he didn’t bother looking sorry about it.

“ _No._ Because I don’t date and you know it.”

“And?”

“And I like having Frank as my friend. And- And him wanting to date me could ruin everything!”

At that, Emma sank down, crossing her arms on the table and burying her face in them.

“Surely you knew this would happen sooner or later,” Knightley said, clearly unsympathetic to her distress.

Emma only groaned. She wasn’t stupid. She’d flirted with other boys before and had to abruptly let them down when they took her too seriously, but she’d never really liked any of those boys. She liked Frank. And she really hadn’t ever expected that Frank Churchill, of all people, would actually fall in love with her.

After all, Frank must have known that Emma never dated. Everyone knew. She was in her third year of a degree in Communications with a minor in Psychology, participated in a handful of clubs and campus groups, had a vibrant social circle and an adoring father, and absolutely no extra time to waste on a series of relationships that would likely only disappoint her. She’d watched most of her friends have their hearts broken by stupid and careless boys all through high school and into college, and had decided early on to opt out entirely. It was a choice she’d never regretted.

Sure, someday, if she liked someone enough to make it worth investing her time in, she would change her mind. But no matter how much she liked hanging out with Frank, even he wasn’t enough to tempt her into dating.

Her phone buzzed again. She lifted her sorry head up to read the text.

 _Frank_ : 😬

“Look, Emma,” Knightley said, more earnestly than she expected. “If you really like Frank, the best thing you can do for him is to be direct. Tell him you’re not interested in dating him so he can move on.”

Even Emma could see the logic in that. If Knightley, who was so far from a fan of Frank, thought she was mistreating her friend, he had to be right (not that she’d say so). She should just be direct, as uncomfortable as the thought of it made her.

“Okay,” she said, quietly. Then, with conviction, “Okay, I’m going to talk to him. I’m gonna do it right now.”

She stood and gathered her things before she could lose her nerve.

“Will you still be here in an hour?” she asked.

Knightley only blinked at her and swept an arm out to gesture to the pile of textbooks and papers strewn all over the table. Knowing him, he’d probably be there until the library closed. Emma smiled grimly.

“I’ll come back when I’m done,” she told him. “And, if you let me complain about it more, I’ll even bring you a coffee.”

“It’s a date,” Knightley said.

Emma just shook her head at him and left.

* * *

She’d suggested to Frank that they meet in a café, but he’d been very adamant that they go somewhere private. His apartment was closest and he didn’t have any roommates, whereas she lived with Harriet and couldn’t really be sure of having any privacy at home, so they agreed that they would meet at his place. Besides, his apartment building had the loveliest rooftop garden. Emma would often meet him there between classes and sunbathe on one of the lounge chairs while he told her stories about parties he’d been to over the weekend or complained about one of his classes. She’d asked if they could talk there, in hopes of the familiar setting boosting her courage a little, but when she arrived, she found that it only made her sadder. What if he was so angry with her that he stopped talking to her entirely, and she never got to visit the little rooftop garden again?

She tried to push the thought from her head and focus on Frank, but looking at him only made her more nervous. His smile was usually broad and warm, but now, it was so clearly forced that it unsettled her. She tried to make small talk, only to be met with one word answers or stilted laughs. After a few minutes of discomfort, she decided that whatever he had to say couldn’t be worse than this.

“What did you want to talk about, Frank?” she asked, firmly.

“Hm? Oh, nothing important. Did you have class today?”

Emma looked at him steadily. He laughed and seemed for a moment like he was going to play the whole thing off, then suddenly let the forced smile drop.

“Emma,” he started. “You know I think the world of you. And I’m so happy we’ve been spending more time together recently.”

He stopped for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“This is…hard for me to talk about. I hope you know that if I liked or trusted you any less, I wouldn’t be telling you this at all. I do really like you.”

“Frank,” she tried to break in, hoping to spare him the whole confession, but he pressed on.

“You’re so wonderful, and clever, and kind. Very kind-”

“ _Frank_.”

“And you’re such a great friend. I know we really haven’t been friends that long, but I feel like I can tell you anything.”

“Frank, I’m sorry, but-“

“I have a favor to ask you,” he said, and looked at her expectantly.

Emma blinked. A favor? All of this, for a _favor_? She’d been certain that he was just about to profess his undying love for her. Bracing herself, she reasoned that he still might. After all, she couldn’t imagine Frank Churchill needing anything from her so desperately that he couldn’t get from anyone else.

Realizing that he was still waiting for her response, she gave a cautious nod.

“Okay,” he said. He seemed to be bracing himself as well. “There’s really no easy way to say this.”

“Just say it, Frank.” She was growing impatient with him.

“Will you pretend to be my girlfriend?”

If she’d been surprised before to find out that he wasn’t asking her out after all, she was absolutely dumbfounded to hear that he wanted her to _pretend_ to go out with him. Obviously, her answer was no. It was an absurd idea. But Frank wasn’t generally an absurd person. Theatrical, sure. Facetious, absolutely. But never absurd. There had to be some explanation.

And there was. A very good explanation, in fact, which he was happy to give.

Frank revealed that he’d been in a fairly serious relationship with Jane Fairfax for the last year. They’d been keeping it secret all that time, but recently, his aunt had started asking him questions about Jane that made him worry that she had found out somehow.

He was certain his aunt would be furious with him for dating Jane. The Churchills practically owned the University of Highbury- the library was even named after them- and Jane had been awarded a full-ride scholarship that was funded directly by Frank’s aunt and uncle. She’d won the scholarship well before she and Frank started seeing each other, Frank assured Emma, but it still. It wouldn’t look good.

“Jane’s been a straight A student her entire life,” Emma protested. “No one could accuse her of cheating her way to where she is.”

Frank shook his head. “That wouldn’t matter to my aunt.”

He hesitated, then explained that he wasn’t entirely sure if his aunt would rescind Jane’s scholarship because of the optics of Jane dating her nephew, or just to punish Frank for dating someone that she didn’t approve of. Frank loved his aunt, in a complicated way, but he could admit that she was spiteful and snobbish enough to do something that horrible. Either way, he was certain that Jane would lose her scholarship. She could never afford the cost of attendance on her own and would have to drop out.

Recently, Frank had gotten the idea that if he were to appear to date someone else, someone that his aunt would approve of, no one would ever suspect that he and Jane were together. Emma was the natural choice. She came from a good family and was well known and well liked throughout Highbury. Frank was certain that his aunt would approve of her. Plus, he trusted Emma, and they spent so much time together already that it wouldn’t be hard to convince anyone that they were dating.

Emma could see his point. It probably wouldn’t be very hard. All they’d have to do is keep hanging out like they’d been doing, with an added charade of holding hands and calling each other pet names. She was strangely flattered that he’d chosen her. And she hated to think of her friend- and, more distantly, Jane Fairfax- suffering when she could do something to help. It made sense, mostly.

“Does Jane know about this plan?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And she’s…okay with it?”

Frank grimaced. “Well, she doesn’t love it. But it’s better than the alternative.”

 _Is it?_ Emma wanted to ask. Frank was so handsome and popular. There had to be a dozen girls ready to go out with him at a moment’s notice. Even Jane, who Emma didn’t especially care for, had a sort of intimidating, elegant vibe that Emma could admit plenty of guys were probably into. There had to be other people out there for either of them to fall in love with. Was this elaborate ruse really that much better than just going their separate ways?

Sensing Emma’s hesitation, Frank added, “It would only be for a few months. The Fall Semester will be over in a few weeks, and Jane and I are both graduating in the Spring.”

Emma bristled at that before she could stop herself. She and Jane were exactly the same age, but Jane had taken nearly every AP class in high school, as well as community college courses on the side. It wasn’t shocking that she would be a full year ahead of Emma. Still, it tugged at something petty and jealous in her that she’d never fully grown out of.

“Do you really love her?” Emma asked, careful to keep her voice neutral.

Frank looked at her and, without hesitation, said, “I do.”

Emma sighed. A few months didn’t seem very long.

“I’ll think about it,” she told him.

* * *

She was so dazed after her conversation with Frank that she wandered straight home to her apartment. Harriet was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Emma took a seat at the counter, happy to let her cheerful friend distract her with a long-winded story about her day. Even Harriet, however, couldn’t seem to get her full attention. Emma’s mind kept wandering back to Frank and Jane and whether she should get involved or not.

After a while, her phone rang. She thought it might be Frank looking for her answer and her heart jumped into her throat. But it was only Knightley.

“Hi,” she answered.

“Hi,” he said. “Did you forget something?”

Emma’s poor, overworked mind drew a complete blank.

“Uh, no?” she said. She heard someone call Knightley’s name in the background, followed by a muffled “thank you” in Knightley’s familiar voice. “Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m out getting the coffee you said you were going to bring me,” he told her. “Where are you?”

She’d been so wrapped up in Frank’s revelation that her promise to meet Knightley in the library afterward had slipped her mind. Emma cursed quietly.

“I’m sorry, Knightley,” she said, quite pitifully. “I was so out of it after talking to Frank, I ended up going straight home. I completely forgot.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I just…wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He sounded so patient and sincere that it only made Emma feel even worse about forgetting him. At least if he’d been irritated with her, she could have defended herself. Arguing with him might have actually been the distraction she was looking for. His gentle worry, on the other hand, reminded her of how careless and self-absorbed she could be, in comparison to his unfailing concern for others.

“I’m alright,” she said, after a moment.

“How did it go with Frank?”

“I don’t know. It was weird,” she told him, as honestly as she could. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said. “If you, uh, change your mind. You know.”

“I know.”

She really did. As much as Knightley hated talking about relationships with her, as much as he disliked Frank, and even with a paper due the next day, she knew that he would drop everything if she asked him to. Knightley could be critical and contrary, but he was always there for his friends.

It gave her that strange mix of fondness for him and embarrassment for herself that she often felt after they argued, when she knew he’d been right but couldn’t admit it, and he’d forgiven her anyway. Sometimes she became so suddenly and deeply aware of what a good friend Knightley was to her, it made her wish that she were so good a friend. Which only made her think again of Frank and Jane, and her own selfishness at not wanting to help them when she easily could.

She wanted to do the right thing, but didn’t quite know what that was. Usually, she would ask Knightley’s advice, but this was such a delicate problem. She couldn’t explain her predicament without revealing Frank’s big secret, and it wasn’t her place to do that. Even if Knightley would never tell anyone.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Knightley asked after another long silence.

Emma felt her will crumble, just a little.

“No. Not entirely. I’m…confused, about something, and I want to know how you feel about it, but I don’t really want to talk about it either.”

“Um, okay?” He sounded very taken-aback, which she couldn't blame him for. “Why don’t you tell me about it and I’ll tell you what I think, and then we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”’

“Okay,” she said.

Emma took a moment to gather her thoughts, searching for the words to summarize the whole ordeal without revealing anything significant. Finally, she settled on a question.

“Do you think if someone is in love- like, _really_ in love- that it’s…worth it?”

A pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you know how people always say that love conquers all, or whatever? If two people love each other, and they want to be together, but it’s complicated. If there’s something in their way, like their families or something else that’s important and unchangeable.” She hesitated for a moment, then continued. “Do you think it would be worth it- worth the suffering and discomfort and uncertainty- for them to be together?”

“Emma,” Knightley said, very softly.

Something in his tone made her redden. She wasn’t explaining it correctly.

“I mean, do you think they could be happy?” she asked, more firmly.

“If they love each other,” Knightley said, slowly and with conviction, “Then, I think they could be very happy.”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “I think you’re probably right.”

She let out a heavy sigh.

“And, I guess caring about someone means that I should want them to be happy. I should do whatever I can to make sure of it,” she continued.

“Well, yeah, of course, but that’s not…” He broke off, sounding confused now. “Emma, what exactly are you trying to say?”

Emma took a deep breath, feeling more sure of herself than she had all day.

“I think I’m going to date Frank Churchill,” she told Knightley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, they all attend the University of Highbury, the local college in the city of Highbury. Knightley is a grad student, the rest are undergrads. Any other important details should reveal themselves along the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I didn't realize until I read the comments that my last author's note was kinda misleading. I absolutely intend to continue this work! I intend to finish it, even! I was just lamenting the fact that I've never attempted a multi-chapter work before and I'm super nervous about it, but excited to see how it turns out. Hopefully, I should be updating around once a week, but please don't hold me to that. And thank you for reading!

Despite having nothing to compare him to, Emma thought Frank Churchill was a very good boyfriend. At least, he was certainly all the things she expected a boyfriend would be.

They shared an 8:00 AM class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he always brought her coffee, just how she liked it. He made a point of walking her to her next class afterward, even though his next class was on the other side of campus. A few afternoons a week, when their schedules allowed, they’d eat lunch together, and on evenings and weekends, she would stop by his fraternity to hang out for a while. It really wasn’t any different from how they’d been spending time together before, except for how routine it was becoming. For the first few weeks, Emma thought to herself that “dating” Frank Churchill for the rest of the year would be the easiest thing in the world.

It did sometimes give her pause, however, to think that his actual girlfriend didn’t receive the same treatment. Jane Fairfax never received an early morning coffee, nor met him for lunch, nor attended a party on his arm. She could only meet Frank in the library or at his apartment, under the guise of tutoring him, to avoid raising any suspicion. Emma thought that would be a terribly boring way to date someone. There was hardly anyone in the world she could stand to spend long stretches of time alone with, doing nothing but enjoying their company. Jane had always been a quiet, solitary girl, though, so Emma supposed that Jane might not mind much at all. Still, she couldn’t help but blush and avoid eye contact whenever she and Frank passed Jane on campus, hand in hand.

With that single exception, Emma found that she liked being someone’s girlfriend much more than she’d anticipated. She liked always having something to do and someone to do it with. She liked having someone always by her side at parties, to refill her drink, or gossip with her, or chase away unwanted male attention. She was a little embarrassed to admit it, but she even liked the heightened attention and admiration that came with being Frank Churchill’s girlfriend.

That was how Harriet always said it, to Emma’s amusement. Not that she was “dating Frank”, or that she and Frank were “seeing each other”, but that Emma was now _Frank Churchill’s Girlfriend_. Harriet said the words with such awe and enthusiasm that they sounded like a title.

“You must be so excited,” Harriet had gushed, when Emma first told her the news, “to be _Frank Churchill’s Girlfriend_!”

Emma had grinned, finding Harriet’s excitement contagious, even knowing that she wasn’t really Frank Churchill’s girlfriend at all.

“You must be so in love with him,” Harriet said. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never dated anyone! You haven’t even been interested in anyone!”

“I’m not in love with him, Harriet,” Emma said.

“Maybe not yet, but you will be! You must be falling more in love with him every day!”

Emma laughed. Harriet had always been the most hopeless romantic. She couldn’t recall a time when Harriet didn’t have a crush on someone, never moving on from one boy until her heart had settled on another. Harriet’s woes in love had helped convince Emma that she never wanted to be so infatuated with another person, though she couldn’t find the habit to be anything but endearing in her friend.

“Oh, you laugh all you want,” Harriet said. “But I told you that Frank would fall in love with you, and I’ll be telling everyone I said so at your wedding someday.”

This sobered Emma somewhat. Harriet had been insisting for months that if anyone could finally thaw Emma’s heart, it would be Frank Churchill, and she should have expected her friend to feel absolutely triumphant to find that she and Frank seemed to be dating. Harriet would be so disappointed when they inevitably broke up. But, Emma reasoned, Harriet was always getting her hopes up about something or another and having to bounce back when she ended up disappointed. She would certainly overcome the disappointment of Emma and Frank not getting married.

More surprising was the eager interest of Emma’s friend, Anne Taylor. Anne was always supportive of Emma, but it wasn’t like her to get too involved. She was more often the voice of reason keeping Emma in check, as she had been doing for most of Emma’s life.

Emma’s mother had died when she was very young, and all through her childhood, her father had worked long hours at his office. He hated to leave her and her sister, Isabella, alone after school and instead had them wait next door at the Taylors’ house until he got home. Once Emma was in middle school, she protested that she was far too old to need a babysitter and they had compromised by asking the Taylors’ daughter, Anne, to look after the girls at the Woodhouse residence instead. But Anne had never been much of an authority figure. She was only a year older than Isabella, though Mr. Woodhouse seemed to think of her as so much more mature and responsible. Emma thought of her more as another sister, and as a dear friend.

She certainly wasn’t someone who got emotionally invested in other people’s relationships, which was what made it so unexpected that Emma received a call from Anne a few weeks into her arrangement with Frank.

“Emma Woodhouse,” Anne said, slyly, “You have been keeping secrets.”

Emma, who had been walking to meet Knightley for coffee between classes, stopped in her tracks.

She took a second to steady her voice before chirping, “Who? Me?”

“Yes, you! I can’t believe I had to find out from Facebook that you’re dating Frank Churchill.”

Emma relaxed and resumed walking. A few days earlier, Emma and Frank had made their relationship “social media official” by changing their profile pictures on all platforms to disgustingly cute pictures together. Frank had pointed out that it looked weird for the two of them, who were both fairly active on social media, to fail to mention their relationship at all. Emma had insisted that making a big deal about it would only expose them to more questions and make the whole thing that much more embarrassing if they were ever found out. After some time, she agreed to simply changing their profile pictures: hers to a “candid” shot of the two laughing together, and his to one of her kissing his cheek. Harriet had taken both and was extremely proud of herself. Even Emma, who found most pictures of couples nauseating and overly staged, was satisfied with the results.

She hadn’t considered that the news would reach anyone she really cared about. Her father and sister didn’t use social media, and Harriet and Knightley already knew. The possibility of having to explain herself to Anne Taylor had been completely overlooked.

“Oh,” Emma said, hoping she sounded as casual as she was trying to. “That’s not a secret. I was going to tell you the next time we spoke.”

“ _Emma_ , we spoke last week and you didn’t say anything about it.”

“ _Anne_. You called me last week to tell me that Wes proposed to you. I had other things on my mind.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Anne laughed. “But this is still big news! Your first relationship! You should’ve called me.”

Emma grimaced, grateful that Anne wasn’t there to see the guilt and embarrassment on her face.

“I, uh, didn’t want to make a big deal about it too early,” she said. “It’s still pretty new.”

“That’s very reasonable of you. Anyway, I’m happy to know about it now. How did it happen? What’s he like? How do you feel?”

At that moment, Emma arrived at the café where she was meeting Knightley. She could see him through the window, drinking his black coffee and making notes in a little notebook. He must have felt her eyes on him and looked up, his face softening into a small smile. Emma grinned, grateful for the excuse to hang up on Anne.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Emma said. “Soon. But I actually have to go now.”

“Oh?” Anne sounded very amused. “Off to meet Frank Churchill?”

“No,” Emma shot back. “Off to meet George Knightley, who will be infinitely grumpier if I keep him waiting.”

“Okay, Emma,” Anne said. “I’ll talk to you soon, then. Tell Knightley I said hi. And congratulations to you and Frank!”

Emma mumbled a quick thanks and hung up, hurrying into the café. After ordering and paying, she joined Knightley at his little corner table and let out a heavy sigh.

“Anne says hi,” she told him.

Knightley nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

“How’s she doing?” he asked.

“Oh, we didn’t talk long. She just called to ask about Frank.” Emma rolled her eyes, but smiled.

Knightley hummed in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

At least with him, nothing had changed. In fact, Knightley hadn’t asked her a single thing about Frank since she’d told him she intended to date him. Part of her felt slighted in some way, that such a close friend would be so disinterested in the goings on in her life. More than anything, though, she was glad. She wasn’t the best liar in the first place, but she had never been able to keep anything at all from Knightley. It was better that she didn’t have to talk about her relationship with Frank around him; she was certain that the more Knightley knew, the more he would suspect the truth of it.

* * *

The couple of months of Emma’s relationship with Frank passed entirely without difficulty. Harriet continued her enthusiastic, guileless support, Anne maintained a patient, almost maternal interest, and Knightley seemed content to pretend it wasn’t happening at all.

At Thanksgiving, Emma went home to her father, and Frank stayed in his campus apartment. It was the first time since the summer that she and Frank had gone more than a few days without seeing each other. She knew he must be looking forward to being able to spend more time with Jane, with classes out and most students gone. For her part, she expected to be quite bored without his company, which she had grown so accustomed to.

Isabella had come home for the holiday, which always put their father in high spirits. After breaking up with her high school sweetheart, John (who was Knightley’s brother), Isabella had determined to start a new chapter of her life and found a job in Brunswick. She’d lived there three years now and seemed quite happy, though Emma was certain that her sister avoided visiting Highbury for fear of running into John. Mr. Woodhouse seemed to have the same suspicion, or at least, had never forgiven John Knightley for his daughter’s heartbreak, and always spoke of Isabella’s moving to Brunswick as a terribly tragic event.

Fortunately, Mr. Woodhouse’s resentment didn’t extend to George Knightley, who was always welcome at their house. It had been tradition for Knightley and John to spend their holidays at the Woodhouses ever since Mr. and Mrs. Knightley had been killed in a car accident, almost seven years earlier. John stopped coming after he and Isabella broke up, and usually didn’t even bother going back home to Highbury for the holidays. He attended an out of state law school and claimed visiting Highbury was too expensive and inconvenient to justify doing it more than once a year. Emma had told Knightley once that she thought it was awful that his older brother would leave him alone, with all of the responsibility of caring for the house they’d inherited and none of the comforts of family. Knightley had simply said that it was John’s way and refused to talk about it any more.

Usually, Anne also spent her holidays with the Woodhouses. Her parents used to accompany her when they lived next door, but after Anne graduated from high school, they’d had a messy divorce and each moved out of Highbury. Anne still saw them frequently, but had decided early on to keep her tradition of spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with the Woodhouses, rather than hurt anyone’s feelings by choosing a parent to visit. The past couple of years, her boyfriend, Weston Randalls (fondly called Wes) had tagged along, but now that they were engaged, they’d agreed it was important that they spend Thanksgiving with his family.

That left Emma to cook the Thanksgiving meal alone. She and Anne had shared the responsibility in the past without much trouble or any need of help from the others. Her father fussed over everything too much to be useful (“ _Remember that the turkey must be cooked to at least 165 degrees!” “Is the casserole burning?” “Careful not to cut your fingers!”_ ) and Isabella wasn’t much better, so Emma decided that she was probably better off doing it on her own than allowing either of them into the kitchen. Besides, she knew what she was doing.

But Emma soon discovered that knowing what she was doing was not quite the same as managing to do it on her own. With an hour to go until dinner, she was still racing around the kitchen trying to get everything done at just the right time—not too early or it would go cold, and not too late or everyone would be kept waiting.

The kitchen was a mess. Dishes piled up in the sink and on the counter. Two separate pots of water were boiling on the stove, each looking just about to bubble over. She hadn’t finished peeling the potatoes yet, but needed to step away nearly every minute to stir one thing or another, and she was sure she could smell something burning, but hadn’t been able to figure out what it was yet.

When Knightley poked his head in to ask if he could do anything to help, she could’ve cried in relief. She pushed the potato peeler into his hand, barked a quick instruction, and darted back to the stovetop to boil the macaroni and begin the cranberry sauce. A few frantic minutes passed in silence, before it occurred to Emma that Knightley was probably done with the potatoes and would need a new job. She turned to ask him to wash and cut the green beans, only to find him already doing it. He looked up at her quizzically.

“Do you need help with the cranberry sauce?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But once the macaroni is done, you can use the same pot to boil the potatoes.”

He nodded and went back to cutting the ends off the green beans. Between the two of them, all of the little things that needed to get done were taken care of quite easily. The potatoes were mashed, the macaroni and cheese completed, the green beans steamed, and the turkey cooked to perfection. When they all finally sat down to eat, Mr. Woodhouse proclaimed it the finest Thanksgiving meal he’d ever seen.

“You say that every year, Dad,” Isabella said.

“And every year it’s true!” he protested.

Emma caught Knightley’s eye and they exchanged a smile. All at once, Emma was struck by just how much she enjoyed their family traditions. Going to school so close to home, she didn’t often have a reason to feel homesick. But looking around at them, listening to Isabella explain an article she’d read about the health benefits of alkaline water, and Knightley patiently explaining his plans for his dissertation to her father, and her father asking several times if she was eating well when she was away at school, Emma realized how much she’d missed them all.

It was nice to just all be together. She’d taken for granted the comfort of being surrounded by the people who knew her best and who loved her unconditionally. More distantly, she thought it was nice to spend a day completely unconcerned about keeping Frank’s secret or playing a role. She was struck by just how little she missed Frank’s company, and by how much more relaxed she felt after a day of not having to think or talk about him at all.

After dinner, Mr. Woodhouse put on “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving,” which was his own favorite tradition. Emma set to work clearing the table. She found Knightley already in the kitchen, beginning to rinse off the dishes and load the dishwasher.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Isabella and I will take care of it in the morning.”

“The food will be stuck on by then. It’s easier to just do it now,” he said.

“Well, then at least let me help you.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind doing it.”

“Neither do I,” she said, primly.

She grabbed a dishcloth and sidled up next to him. He finished rinsing off a plate and she snatched it from his hands with a look that told him not to argue before loading it in the dishwasher. They fell into the same easy rhythm they’d had when they were cooking together.

After a long stretch of contented silence, Emma softly said, “This was really nice. I missed this.”

Knightley looked up to smile at her. “Thanksgiving’s always nice.”

“Yeah, but I don’t just mean Thanksgiving. I mean being together.” She sighed as she mopped up some water that had splashed onto the counter with a dishcloth. “It feels like I never get to see Isabella anymore.”

“Your dad says the same thing about you,” Knightley said, passing her another plate.

Emma frowned as she slid it into the dishwasher.

“I know. And I feel bad enough about leaving him without you reminding me.”

Whenever she said as much to Harriet or Anne, or even Isabella, they laughed and told her that moving twenty minutes away didn’t count as leaving her father. But Knightley only nodded.

“Of course your dad would rather you lived at home, but he also wants you to be happy. Are you happy?”

Emma glared at him petulantly.

“Good,” Knightley said, just as if she’d agreed. “Then he is too.”

Emma pouted. She knew logically that her father wanted her to be happy more than he wanted her to be home, but she also knew that her father’s greatest wish was that she could be happy _at_ home. Knightley couldn’t reason away that truth any more than she could unknow it.

Knightley stopped in the middle of scrubbing burnt cheese out of the casserole dish. Emma watched him frown and set the dish down, looking to be deep in thought. Finally, he looked up at her again.

“ _Are_ you happy?” he asked.

Emma blinked at him. “Yeah. I’m always happy.”

“Sure, but…” he hesitated. “Are you happy with Frank?”

“Oh,” she said, caught off-guard. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay.”

He stared resolutely at the casserole dish as if determined not to say anything else. Then, he continued.

“It’s just that we haven’t really talked about it since it happened,” he said.

Emma shifted uncomfortably. Were it anyone else, she would have expected this conversation weeks ago. In fact, she’d been trying not to get caught alone with Isabella all week, certain that her sister would jump at the chance to interrogate her about Frank. With Knightley, though, any conversation about Frank was so unexpected that she hadn’t even thought to prepare an explanation for him. She turned from the sink and went to wipe down the stovetop, trying to keep her face hidden from his keen eyes.

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it,” she said, trying to keep her tone completely neutral.

“I don’t,” he said, quickly. She thought his tone might have the same quality of forced steadiness as hers, but then thought that she might just be projecting. “I just wanted to make sure you were sure about it.”

Emma frowned at him over her shoulder. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you started dating pretty suddenly.”

“We were talking for months before we started dating. I wouldn’t call that sudden.”

“It’s sudden for you. You always said you’d never date anyone.”

Now she recognized his tone without a doubt as one he used when he lectured her about responsibility or pointed out one of her faults. Like what he was saying was very obvious and he was surprised he had to say it at all. It rankled her.

“I changed my mind,” she said.

“In a few hours?” He shook his head. “Emma, in the library you told me that you were nervous that he wanted to date you and weren’t sure how to let him down, and then you went to talk to him and, what? Changed your mind?”

He looked at her incredulously, but didn’t wait for her to answer.

“It just doesn’t make sense to me how you could go from being totally disinterested in Frank Churchill to being his girlfriend in one afternoon.”

“I wasn’t totally disinterested in him. I had feelings for him. I just…didn’t realize they were there until we talked about it, I guess.”

Harriet and Anne had believed that line quite easily, but Emma hadn’t been sure before if Knightley would. Now, she was so irritated and defensive that she was sure it must sound like a lie.

“Did you have feelings for him, or did you _want_ to have feelings for him?”

Emma scoffed, now altogether indignant. She set the dishcloth down and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I _wanted_ to have feelings for him, and I _did_ have feelings for him,” she said, hotly. “And besides, you don’t need to be in love with someone to start dating them. Frank and I are keeping it casual.”

“Sure, but you shouldn’t date someone just because you don’t want to hurt their feelings either,” Knightley said.

Emma gawked at him.

“I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then were you just bored? Now that Harriet’s dating Martin, I know she’s not around as often. I wouldn’t blame you for feeling left out.”

“ _No._ I’m not dating Frank because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or because I wanted to have something in common with Harriet or whatever it is you think. I’m dating Frank because I _like_ him. I don’t see why that’s so hard to understand. _”_

“But are you _sure_? Because if you’re just doing it because it’s fun—”

Emma cut him off with a derisive scoff.

“Dating is supposed to be fun!” she said. “That’s why people do it!”

“But if Frank actually likes you—”

“ _If_ Frank likes me? We’ve been together for almost two months, Knightley. I would hope he’s found something to like by now.”

“I’m not saying you’re not likable, Emma, but I don’t pretend to know what goes on in Frank’s head.”

By now, Knightley sounded every bit as exasperated as she did. He held his arms out in a half-shrug of frustration, his eyebrows knit into his famous _you’re misunderstanding me on purpose_ look. It only riled Emma up more. How could she possibly be misunderstanding him? He either thought she was too stupid to make good choices or too self-absorbed to care, neither of which made her feel very good about the kind of person her best friend seemed to think she was.

“I’m sorry, am I using him or is he using me? It’s hard to keep track here,” she asked with a humorless laugh.

Knightley clenched his jaw and let his arms fall to his sides.

“All I’m saying is that I don’t trust him,” he said.

“You don’t need to trust him! You should trust me!” Emma cried. “I’m your friend, and I’ve already told you that I’m happy and that I know what I’m doing. That should be enough for you.”

“It would be, if I believed you,” he said, with a tone of finality.

Emma felt her throat constrict with unshed tears.

She took a steadying breath, then said, “Well, I don’t need you to believe me. And I don’t need you to approve of my relationship.”

“Emma,” he said, almost gently.

“And I don’t need your help with the stupid dishes, so you should probably go.”

She turned her back on him and busied herself cleaning the stovetop, ignoring the feeling of his eyes on her. He stayed a moment longer, then let out a frustrated huff and stalked out of the kitchen.

In another moment, she heard his quiet, rumbling voice coming from the living room, followed by her father asking why he should go so soon, and wouldn’t he at least like to stay until Charlie Brown was over. Emma had only meant that Knightley should leave the kitchen, but was too angry and raw to go after him and clarify. She waited for the sound of the door closing behind him before letting a single tear fall. Once one tear had escaped, though, a hundred more seemed to follow, and Emma stood alone in the kitchen for quite some time, crying bitterly and wondering how she’d managed to get into such a real argument about a fake relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I'm treating all locations from Emma as if they're fully fictional and have no geographical meaning. If you're reading this and thinking, "Why is she writing about Highbury like it's in the US?" the answer is because the US is all I know. I promise it would only be more confusing if I were to attempt learning enough about Highbury, England to use it as the setting.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma didn’t speak to Knightley for the rest of Thanksgiving Break. By the time classes started again, she had cooled off enough to see how silly it was to be angry at him for having doubts about her relationship. He was right. She hadn’t changed her mind about dating, she didn’t have feelings for Frank, and Frank didn’t have feelings for her. Worse, she had always expected Knightley not to believe the lie. She could hardly resent him for knowing her as well as she thought he did.

Still, some of the things he said hit a little close to home. He’d accused her of being self-centered to the point of cruelty, not caring enough about the feelings of others, seeing in people only what she wanted to see— all of which she’d feared of herself before. In fact, those were the qualities she most resented in herself and tried the hardest to fight against. But acknowledging that she had an innate tendency toward selfishness, carelessness, and arrogance didn’t take the sting away from hearing someone else call her those things. Especially someone whom she cared about and whose opinion she valued as much as Knightley.

She’d never known anyone else as fundamentally good as Knightley, or as unrelenting in his expectation that the people he cared about should live up to his values. That was why his observation of her faults and reliable criticism didn’t often hurt her. It was sort of a compliment, usually, that Knightley expected as much of her as he did of himself. It meant he thought that she was capable of it. Now she worried that she’d just told herself that to soothe her own ego, and that maybe he didn’t think much of her at all.

That fear overpowered her guilt and settled deep in her stomach, so that every time she thought of it, she started to feel nauseated. After another week of hearing nothing from Knightley, it became clear that he needed space. She imagined that she would probably want some time to herself too, if someone had lashed out at her for showing concern. The memory of their argument mortified Emma. She wanted desperately to talk to him and set things right. But she determined that if Knightley needed space she would give it to him, and resolved to let him reach out first. 

The approach of finals week made her miss her friend all the more. Every reading week since her freshman year, Emma and Knightley had been practically inseparable. It was how they’d gotten so close in the first place. They’d known each other pretty well before then, given how close their families were, but their age difference had meant that they were never really friends as much as just two people who happened to have spent a lot of time together. Then, by coincidence, Emma began her freshman year at the University of Highbury at the same time that Knightley began his PhD program there and the two had gravitated toward each other. Emma hated to be alone and leaned on him heavily the first few weeks to eat lunch with her, explore the campus, and keep her company until she made friends of her own. Then, when finals week rolled around, she’d realized that all the friends she’d made had terrible study habits, and had turned to him again to be her study partner.

He’d warned her sternly that he’d leave if she distracted him, but they had both discovered that their styles of studying perfectly complemented one another. Emma’s tendency toward distraction and difficulty refusing invitations from friends to good off made Knightley the ideal study partner. His intolerance of laziness drove her to mimic his laser focus and diligence. Meanwhile, Knightley was prone to becoming consumed by his studies and neglecting to eat, sleep, or even leave the library for days at a time. Emma’s restlessness and concern forced him to take a healthier amount of breaks and let his mind rest every once in a while.

They both liked studying together so much that it had become a routine for them. Every reading week, they’d meet daily in the library and often stay there from open to close, leaving only to go on short walks or get food. If one of them still had more to do when the library closed, they’d go back to either Knightley’s house or Emma’s apartment and keep working together. Sometimes they’d even sleep over, and go to the library again first thing in the morning. Knightley joked that Emma saved up all of the effort she should have been putting into her classes and used it all at once in the week before finals. Emma preferred to say that she got as much done in a week as he did in an entire semester.

The memory of their shared joke made Emma smile, then frown. She would sorely miss Knightley’s stern presence keeping her on task, but she would have to make do without him this semester. Fortunately, she had a promising alternative study partner in Frank Churchill.

Frank’s friends were often surprised by his dedication to his studies. Of course, more than half the time he claimed to spend studying and being tutored by Jane was really just an excuse to be alone with her. In reality, Frank had to work hard to strike a balance between actually finding time to get work done without appearing overly studious and drawing suspicion. Ironically, Emma provided the perfect cover once again. As two people who were “dating,” they could spend any amount of time alone together studying without anyone thinking twice about it.

Frank wasn’t half the study partner that Knightley was, but they made it work. Frank was distracted as easily as Emma and often tried to talk her into taking breaks or ending early. Emma, who was so used to being the one to complain, found a strange satisfaction in getting to be the disciplined one for once. More than a few times, she thought about how funny Knightley would find the sudden role reversal and got excited to tell him about it, before plunging into moody impatience when she remembered that they weren’t currently speaking.

At the end of reading week, on the Saturday before finals started, Emma convinced Frank to study in the library with her. He’d insisted that he hated libraries and couldn’t focus with so many people around, which she had answered with a reminder that he found plenty of things in his apartment to distract him and a library couldn’t be any worse. He’d finally relented on the condition that they only go for a few hours and not study for the rest of the day.

But, as it turned out, Emma was the one driven to distraction at the library. Almost immediately upon taking Frank to her preferred section (the top floor, near the café, where talking was permitted) she’d spotted Knightley’s sandy hair peeking out from a studying cubicle across the room. Half-nervous and half-excited, Emma couldn’t decide between leaving to avoid the discomfort or staying to force some kind of reconciliation. Totally blind to her conflict, Frank dumped his backpack onto an empty table and flopped heavily into the chair.

“Alright then, Emma,” Frank said cheerfully. “Show me how it’s done.”

Emma startled out of her daze. “Hm?”

“Tell me your secrets. What is it you do that makes studying in a library so fun?”

Emma laughed and took her seat, playfully pushing Frank’s backpack back toward him.

“I never said it was fun,” she said. “Just that it’s better than being cooped up in your apartment.”

Frank bowed his head to concede the point and got to work pulling out his laptop and flipping through his notebooks. Emma glanced furtively over her shoulder back in Knightley’s direction. To her alarm, he was looking back at her. Her heart lurched and, almost panicked, she lifted her hand to give a little wave. Knightley stared at her for another moment before nodding curtly and ducking his head back into his cubicle.

After that stilted interaction, Emma found it hard to get anything done. She had to focus so hard on fighting the urge to keep looking over at him that she couldn’t process anything she was reading. The back of her neck burned with the sensation of being watched, but she refused to risk making eye contact again to check. Thirty minutes came and went and Emma had made no progress with anything except growing progressively more uncomfortable.

“I’m beginning to think that you were lying about libraries,” Frank said. “I don’t think either one of us has been more productive here than we would be at my apartment.”

Habit urged Emma to say something teasing back and disagree with him, but her anxious mind jumped at a way out.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “Maybe we’d better call it a day, then.”

Frank blinked at her. “Are you okay? You don’t seem quite yourself.”

“I’m not feeling quite myself, honestly,” she said. “I think I just need a minute. You go on ahead and I’ll meet you outside.”

“Okay,” Frank eyed her with wary concern. “But if you’re not out there in five minutes, I’m sending in a search party.”

Emma smiled at that and waved him off. When he was out of sight, she took a shaky breath and began packing up her things. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of Knightley’s eyes on her. _Just go_ , she thought. _If he wanted to speak to you, he would._ But when she looked up to find that he was indeed watching her, her resolve faltered. Before Emma could think better of it, she marched up to him.

“Hi,” she said, with a thick layer of forced cheer.

Knightley looked up at her like a deer caught in headlights, despite having watched her approach.

“Hello,” he said, stiffly.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot, waiting for him to admonish her or ask how she was or _something._ When it became clear that he had nothing to say, she felt her anxiety and regret bubble up into an unstoppable force.

“Listen,” she said, the words tumbling out breathlessly. “I know you don’t want to see me right now, and I’ve been trying to respect that. I really have. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for how I acted on Thanksgiving. You were just trying to be a good friend, and— and I overreacted. And I regret it. You have every right to still be angry with me, but you should know that I am sorry.”

Knightley, who had looked somewhat stunned before she spoke, now looked absolutely baffled. He had stood up at some point during her speech and was now holding his hands up as if to stop her.

“Emma, I’m not angry with you,” he said.

Now it was Emma’s turn to look dumbfounded.

“You’re not?”

“Of course not. I never was.”

“Oh,” she said, as if that cleared up everything. Then, realizing it cleared up absolutely nothing, added, “What?”

“I thought you were angry with me,” he said.

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because of how I spoke to you? I was condescending, and I acted like I knew your feelings better than you did, and I overstepped. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Frankly, I’m…kind of embarrassed about the whole thing.”

Emma thought she spied a slight flush on his cheeks, which fascinated and bewildered her. She’d spent a great deal of time imagining what he might say when they finally spoke again, but this had never occurred to her. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d seen Knightley look so remorseful or uncomfortable. To be fair, she couldn’t think very well at all past her own surprise.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, or apologize,” she said. “We’ve always been honest with each other.”

“There’s a difference between honesty and callousness, Emma. I was callous. I had no right to insert myself into your relationship and make judgments about it, and I feel terrible about how I handled it.”

“That’s— That’s okay!” Emma felt herself flushing now and was eager to move on from the miscommunication. “I’m not mad. I was just giving you space because I thought that _you_ were mad, but if you’re not...”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, then neither of us is mad! So…we’re okay?”

Emma looked up at him, trying to keep the complicated mix of guilt, hope, and relief she was feeling from showing in her eyes. Knightley met her eyes with a furrowed brow that quickly cleared into a small smile. He nodded.

“Yeah. We’re okay,” he said.

Unable to stop herself, Emma pulled Knightley into a quick hug. When she pulled back, she let her hands rest on his shoulders so she could look him full in the face.

“You’re such an idiot!” she exclaimed, grinning. “If you would’ve just said something to me, we could’ve figured this out before I wasted an entire reading week trying to teach Frank how to study.”

“Hey,” Knightley said, smiling more broadly now. “You could’ve said something to me too.”

Emma let her hands fall from his shoulders, but her grin stayed in place.

“Now you’re just picking another fight,” she said. “Anyway, speaking of Frank…He’s waiting outside for me, so I should probably…”

She trailed off, gesturing toward the exit.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Knightley dropped his gaze back towards the cubicle he’d been working at. “I should get back to work anyway.”

“Right. I’ll…call you later?”

Instead of looking up, Knightley only seemed to grow more absorbed with the cubicle. He shuffled a few papers around.

“I, uh, I have to get this literature review done by tomorrow night.”

Emma placed a hand on the papers to draw his attention back to her.

“Knightley,” she said, sternly.” You’re my best friend and I haven’t spoken to you in _weeks_.”

He looked at her and let out something halfway between a chuckle and a scoff. She could tell that he was trying to mirror her sternness, but the effect was ruined by the obvious amusement and fondness in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll call you.”

Emma left the library feeling better than she had in weeks.

Emma’s good mood carried all the way through finals week and into the beginning of the holiday break. By Christmas Eve, she was practically euphoric. Christmas had always been her favorite holiday. Every year, the Woodhouses had a lovely Christmas Eve dinner with all of their closest friends, followed by a small breakfast on Christmas day just with her, Isabella, and their father. This year, Isabella had opted not to come home, though even that couldn’t put a damper on Emma’s holiday cheer.

Anne and Wes came over for dinner on Christmas Eve, joined, of course, by Knightley. Anne and Emma had done much of the cooking and baking ahead of time, leaving little to worry about on the day of. Emma was happy not to have to work so hard to play hostess and to spend more time catching up with their guests.

Wes was a particular favorite of Emma’s when it came to catching up. She saw him least often of anyone there and enjoyed his company immensely. Now that he and Anne were engaged, Emma planned to spend most of the evening quizzing him on how the proposal went, when he’d decided he wanted to marry Anne, when the wedding would be, what themes they were considering, and so on.

To Emma’s surprise, however, Wes had questions of his own for her.

“So are you nervous about tomorrow night?” he asked.

Emma shot him a puzzled smile and laughed. “What would I be nervous about?”

That only made him grin wider. “That’s the spirit! You have nothing to be nervous about. Mrs. Churchill is going to love you.”

The mention of Mrs. Churchill froze Emma’s smile into something closer to a grimace. She racked her brain to figure out what Wes could be referring to.

Finding nothing, she finally asked, “What are you talking about?”

“The Churchill’s Christmas party? You’re going, aren’t you? They throw the biggest party every year and the whole family goes. Well, not the whole family, obviously, because my family is never invited. But surely Frank’s invited you?”

Emma ducked her head, pretending to be occupied with a stray thread hanging from the hem of her skirt.

“Oh, the Christmas party! Of course,” she said, as if it had simply slipped her mind. “We, uh, we talked about it. But, you know I can’t leave my father alone on Christmas.”

“Of course,” Wes said, nodding.

Emma’s mind suddenly caught on something Wes had said and she jolted upright.

“Hang on, what did you say about your family? Do you know the Churchills?”

“Frank didn’t tell you? We’re cousins! My parents actually took Frank in for a while after his mother died. You know, since his dad works for the State Department and lives overseas. His aunt is my aunt too. I barely know the woman, though. She’s my mom’s sister— Frank’s mom was their sister too— but my mom cut ties with that family before I was even born. She thinks they’re all horrible snobs, which they are. I mean, they wouldn’t let Frank stay with us because they thought my parents couldn’t ‘sufficiently provide’ for him. Can you believe that? I’m sure their intentions were good, but still. I was so mad when I was a kid. I wanted a little brother so badly!”

Wes laughed heartily, his usual good humor unaffected by the heaviness of the subject matter. Emma stared at him in shock. After a moment, he seemed to register her awed expression and think back over what he’d said.

“Oh! But I don’t mean to give you a bad opinion of them,” he rushed to explain. “Especially if you haven’t met them yet. Like I said, I’m sure the Churchills just wanted what was best for Frank. They’ve always taken such good care of him. I just wish I’d gotten to see him more growing up, you know? It couldn’t have been easy for him, losing his mom like that.”

Emma recovered quickly enough to give a sympathetic nod and mumble something about how lonely Frank must have been. In her mind, she was still processing most of what Wes said. Before he could dump any more shocking information on her, she excused herself to go check on something in the kitchen. Instead of going to the kitchen, however, she slipped down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the privacy of her bedroom. She shut the door firmly behind her and stood there for a second, mind reeling, before calling Frank.

“Merry Christmas!” Frank answered warmly on the third ring.

But Emma was in no mood for pleasantries. She’d been caught completely by surprise by most of the information Wes had shared and her pride was wounded. Frank had never mentioned a Christmas party, let alone the fact that Wes was his cousin or any of the complex family dynamics Wes had alluded to. As Frank’s friend, she was somewhat hurt not to have been confided in, and as his pretend girlfriend, she was upset that he would put them both at risk of being discovered by not sharing such critical information. She didn’t know where to start.

“You’re having a Christmas party?” she finally asked.

Her indignation was evident in her tone, but Frank didn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Yeah, we have one every year,” he said. “How do you know about it?”

“Wes— you know, Weston Randalls, your _cousin_ — just asked me if I was going.”

“You’re with Wes? How’s he doing?” Frank asked with such genuine interest that Emma had to suppress an exasperated scoff.

“He’s great!” she said, with an edge of sarcasm. “He might be a little hurt that his favorite cousin never mentioned him to his girlfriend, but Wes isn’t the type to complain.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Frank reassured her. “Wes and I aren’t actually very close. I lived with him for a while as a kid, but beyond that, I only see him a couple of times a year. I didn’t even know you knew him.”

“Okay, but he’s still your family,” Emma said, slowly. “Don’t you think it’s weird that you’ve never mentioned your only cousin? Or is he even your only cousin? For all I know, you have a huge extended family that I’ve never even heard of.”

“Wes is my only cousin. And is it really that weird that I don’t talk about him?”

“Yes, Frank. Almost as weird as you not telling me about your family Christmas party.”

Frank was quiet. When he spoke again, his tone was solemn.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I guess I just…don’t really like talking about my family. It’s complicated.”

Emma immediately softened toward him. She thought of her own mother’s untimely death and how deeply it had affected her father. She could understand having a complicated family history that wasn’t always pleasant to talk about.

“I know, Frank,” she said, gently. “And under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be a problem. But you and I are supposed to be dating. This feels like stuff that I should probably know about.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Emma. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“We both need to be more careful in the future. We haven’t even talked about if we’re going to see each other over the break, or come up with an explanation of why we haven’t been seeing each other so far. What if someone asks you how my holidays were and then they ask me about it later and our answers don’t match?”

Frank groaned.

“I haven’t even thought about that,” he said.

“That’s exactly my point, Frank,” she said. “We need to think this kind of stuff through.”

Frank agreed. They made plans to call each other again in a few days and talk it through. Emma would prepare a list of things a couple should know about each other— basic family information, plans for the future, what they liked and disliked — and they would go over it together. Emma resolved not to let any questions about Frank take her by surprise again.

“I know I’ve been pretty stupid about this whole thing so far,” Frank said, amiably, “But you have to give me credit for choosing you to be my fake girlfriend. At least I knew I would need someone much smarter than me to pull this off.”

Emma smiled. Even knowing that Frank was trying to placate her with praise, the words warmed her. Frank Churchill was a difficult person to stay mad at.

“Don’t you forget it,” she said.

“I won’t. In fact, I may even have an idea of how to make it up to you.”

“Really?” she asked. “How do you plan to do that?”

“Emma Woodhouse,” he said, with exaggerated gallantry. “How would you like to be my date to Cole’s New Year’s Eve party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that took a little longer than planned! It's been a busy week at work and I haven't had a lot of spare time to write. But hopefully that will change! This was more of a set-up chapter, but I have a lot planned for the next one with the New Year's Eve party and I'm excited to get to work on it. As always, thanks for reading!


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